Into The Light of Day
by WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot
Summary: Michael Corner after the war. Anthony sympathizes and Terry makes dirty jokes. For The Reviews Lounge's "In the Summertime" project.


**A/N: **Thanks so much to Sara Winters for looking over this story for me. Written for the Reviews Lounge's "In the Summertime" collaboration. Rated T for Terry's dirty mouth.

* * *

**Into the Light of Day **

The sun streamed through the large windows, which were just barely open to allow fresh air into the room. It was St. Mungo's policy, after all, to make their patients as comfortable as possible, and the smells of such cloying tonics and balms could lead one to suffocation.

Neither the light nor the air could brighten Michael Corner's surly mood. Turned onto his uninjured left side, he faced away from the door. On the wall above him, the clock ticked as each second passed. The hourglass on the table next to his bed drained ever so slowly, from top to bottom.

He breathed in and out.

_Anytime now…._

His eyes shifted from hourglass to the door as he heard the ticks of the clock measuring the waning hour.

_Anytime_.

The stream of sand hit the bottom chamber of the hourglass.

_Anyt—_

There was a loud _bang _on the door and two wizards, one moving calmly, the other making as much noise as he possibly could, burst into the room.

"_CORNER!_ YOU INSUFFERABLE PRAT!"

He groaned at the sound of Terry Boot's booming voice. Behind him, Anthony Goldstein shook his head. Michael said nothing, instead turning around in his bed and pushing the pillows into his face. Partly to shield himself from the inevitable Boot onslaught once he approached, but mostly because the side he now laid upon was still in the recovery stages, and it hurt a great deal.

He winced, hissing as he felt the pain from underneath his wrappings and his cast.

"Oh no, you sod!" Terry bounded around the bed and crouched down, so that his face was level with Michael's. He wagged his finger in front of his friend's still-recovering face. "We're not letting you do this to yourself."

"Leave me alone!" He hoped the message came across, as muffled as it was in his pillow. There was a dip in his mattress, and Michael knew that Anthony had just plopped down next to him.

"Mate, look. I'm only going to say this one time. Right now, Terry is really bloody close to dumping you out of this bed and Levitating you out of this window."

Michael again groaned at his other friend. "You wouldn't dare! I'm still injured." He lifted up what was left of his right arm, but only a centimetre or two, as it made him hurt to raise it even now. "My leg's ruined, the whole right side of my body looks like a dragon's chew toy, and I-I… " He swallowed, feeling a lump stuck in his throat. "I can't even look at my right arm… or where my right arm used to be."

He saw Anthony look over at Terry with an inscrutable expression. What they were plotting, Michael couldn't guess.

"Do you realize that you haven't been outside for a bleedin' month?" Terry spoke now, but Michael didn't look at him. "Man, you made it. You survived that sodding war, and yet there are corpses that have more fun than you."

"Hey!" "Terry!" Michael and Anthony looked at each other as they made their simultaneous exclamations.

Terry pushed off the bed. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat this funk for you, mate!" He bent down and picked up the brace that Michael's Healers had given to him. "Now, be a good man and put this on."

He glared at Terry. "What if I say 'no'?"

"Do you really think I won't make good on that threat to Levitate you right out of that big window?" Terry placed the brace on the bed. He spoke in a softer, more pleading tone. "Come on, Mike. It's not healthy being in here all the time. It's summer! It's June already."

He pounded his pillow. "No."

Terry looked up at Anthony, his eyes dark. He stared back down at Michael. "I take it that the Death Eaters took your bollocks too then, eh?"

Michael shot a fiery expression at Terry. He hated that Terry could be so damn insensitive sometimes. Insensitive, rude, loud, obnoxious… and yet, as honest as a mirror.

"Mike, Terry's got a point, as crude as he's making it. We can't just watch you fade away up here."

Anthony normally mediated Terry's exchanges, except for those times that Tony agreed whole-heartedly with Terry's position, although those times were rare. Very rare. Apparently, this was going to be a two-on-one battle, and Michael was too weary to fight with them anymore.

Snorting, Michael used his left arm to push down on his mattress and he scooted himself up gingerly. His right side stung, and he winced and moaned as his body protested to the movement. Having squeezed his eyes shut, he could hear Anthony let out a sigh, indicating that he was worried.

The thought flitted through his head to make an even bigger show of his pain, to make his two friends feel guilty that they were forcing him to do something he was so staunchly opposed to. But Michael opened his eyes instead. He saw Terry's grinning face and Anthony's rueful smile.

"All right. I'm up." He settled against the back of the bed and plastered a sneer on his face, trying to hide the fact that a grin was threatening to peek out on his mouth. No, he was determined to remain sullen and pout. He was not going to let his friends do this crap with him, telling him to stop moping when that was all he wanted to do.

Terry clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms. "Well, first thing's first, right?" Reaching down, he picked up the halved brace and held them up in front of him. "You've gotta have these to walk, right? So let's get it on you."

* * *

"See, you prat?" Terry ran out ahead of them. He threw his arms out and spun around as Anthony stayed by Michael's side. "D'ya see what you've been missing?" He clasped his hands together and made a sickly sweet sound as he watched his two best mates walk. "Oh, don't you two make the prettiest little pairing!"

Anthony glared and flashed him the two-finger salute.

"Shut it, you wanker!" Michael very nearly threw his cane at his mate. Looking around, Michael sighed. It was an unbearably pretty day; the sky had finally cleared up after a week's worth of rain. It was perfectly blue. Tufts of white clouds hung above their heads. Even with their grey underbellies, the slightest threat to mar the otherwise beautiful day with a potential downpour.

Michael closed his eyes. He could smell the grass, sweet from the infusion of rain. There was a cart nearby and the smell of roasted nuts, candied and golden brown, wafted into his nose, making his jaw twitch and mouth water. And there was the sound of laughing, of kids playing somewhere. Different from the wails of the sick and hurt at St. Mungo's. Different from the orders of his Healers telling him how to move to dress his sides or how to use his leg—

"_Oi_!"

A sharp, but playful smack jolted him out of his reverie. Michael opened his eyes and glared at Terry. Boot gestured to a square blanket he had laid out on the grass. "After you."

Grunting and trying to prevent a smile from popping out on his face, Michael made his way over to the blanket, his cane moving first, his injured, braced leg pulling in from the rear. When Anthony made a move as if to assist him, Michael hissed sharply, holding his hand up to stop him from going further.

"Don't."

The tone of his voice made his friends freeze where they stood. With a deep breath and another puff anticipating a certain level of discomfort, Michael manoeuvred his body to the ground. His leg was caught under his body at an odd angle; he let out a whimper as it caught him off guard.

"Michael—" His hand flew up again, warning Anthony to back off. But Terry already had his arm around the other boy's shoulders, keeping him from moving toward Michael.

"I got this, Tony." Michael sucked in his breath as he slowly moved his leg out from under his body. He didn't breathe in again until his bum leg was free from painful obstruction. "Oh-okay," he said, licking his lips and beckoning Terry and Anthony to join him. "I'm fine. Just… it sort of takes a while to see which directions my limbs decide to go."

Terry and Anthony plopped down next to him, the former slapping Michael on his shoulder, causing Michael to wince. Apparently, injuries or no injuries, Terry Boot wasn't about to handle him any differently. The three wizards said nothing for several moments, but sat on the blanket, staring up towards the heavens.

Michael felt that same sense of relief pass over him, the contentment that had started to take hold as soon as they got to the park. He remembered the peaceful feeling that had enveloped his body as he soaked in the sounds and smells of the streets. "It is good to be out here."

Terry smiled, blinking as he looked upwards. "We can't have you missing any more of this summer, mate."

"This is what we fought for, Mike." Anthony's voice was barely a whisper. "Why the hell would you stay away from all of this? Why would you deny this to yourself?"

Michael loathed the fact that he had another lump in his throat. Twice in a day! Bloody hell, he never cried! Not about anything. The last time this happened, he was on the verge of that final battle. Walking with these two blokes towards certain death.

"I'm… all different now." He choked on his words. "Parts of me are missing — _literally_. My leg's all bollocksed up. It's just…" Michael couldn't finish his thought. His head fell, drooping onto his chest. He could feel his chin, the weight resting so near to his heart. Worse still, he could sense his two friends behind him, sharing awkward glances between each other. They hated it when he brought up his maimed body; their discomfort was in their pauses and the tremors of their breaths. It made them nervous because they simply did not know how to react.

Michael felt a jab to his left shoulder. "Well, at least it wasn't your wanking hand."

Slowly, Michael lifted his head up and turned around as much as he could to see Terry, his face rumpled as he looked at his friend, partially from disgust, partially from disbelief that he would say that. Terry, however, was grinning at Michael. Anthony, too, was staring at Terry with exasperation.

Before something cutting, something rude could escape Michael's lips, a chuckle rose from his stomach, and it burst through his mouth and nose like a small explosion. The chuckle snowballed into a giggle, and it escalated to something louder and more joyous.

He was laughing. And his laughter filled the air around them as Anthony and Terry joined him.

"Oh… b-bloody hell, mate!" Michael wiped his eyes with his left hand and slapped Terry on his knee. "And, for your information—" He wiggled his right arm at his friend. "It was. I _was_ right-handed, you prat!"

Anthony guffawed. "H-honestly," he stammered as he slowly regained his composure, "it's just one thing you can train your other hand to work on." He ticked off on each finger. "Writing… wand work… _wanking_…"

"Two of those things mean the same thing!" Michael interjected. They fell into more peals of laughter.

Michael let the sound, the feeling of ebullient joy wash over his wrecked body. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed this much. It was honest, real laughter, and it felt damn good.

Taking a breath, he closed his eyes and lowered his body down, reclining fully in the sun.

"That felt good. That felt _really_ good."

Terry sighed. "To you mate." Michael laughed and felt relaxed. He let the weight of the war, and his recovery, fall away with each peal.

"Yeah," Anthony added. "All for you, Mike."

They lapsed into a relaxing quiet, watching the clouds move slowly across the sky. Michael felt the constant tug at the corners of his mouth. He followed through with the urge, his lips easing into a smile.

"Cheers, Mike." "You'd better enjoy this." Anthony and Terry spoke practically at the same time.

He could only grin upwards at the sky. "Don't worry. I will."


End file.
